October 21, 2017

TRACEY 'B' WARE

TRACEY 'B' WARE

“Yes Tracy, I’m okay. And… ahhhh… thank you for your help!!!”

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Tracy could bench-press your house, your car, and your
dishwasher – he could juggle them simultaneously while eating an apple –
smiling. He could bench over 400lbs (181.5 kg) and stood at 6’8″ (204
cm). He was tough and he knew it.

In Tracey’s youth he was a well-known breaststroke swimmer
before his enormous size and strength steered him towards a full-ride
scholarship at New Mexico State University. My coach claimed that Tracey was
raised near Houston, Texas (Yates High School), by his angelic aunt on a shoddy
house built on wooden stilts (that’s right, on water). He was generally a quiet
man, one who possessed that similar smile and physical presence which
actor Michael Clarke Duncan had – John Coffey from The Green
Mile. I still don’t know where or when Tracy earned his middle initial
‘B’ (Ware) but it certainly never surprised me after I shook his enormous
hands the first time we met.

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Fast forward to New Mexico State University (1989)…

A friend of mine had gotten himself into a scuffle at
‘Sports Connection’ – one of our more popular university bars in Las Cruces,
New Mexico. I caught sight of the little skirmish happening from the
corner of my eye and quickly realized one of my close friends was
involved. The situation did not look particularly precarious, but as a
precautionary measure I immediately stood up to go stand behind my friend.
Generally speaking I am not a fighter, nor quick to fight, but that
instant I knew I needed to help protect my friend.

Somehow, to no real surprise, the situation promptly defused
itself. The two of us were quite obviously no match for the now disgruntled
antagonist standing there before us – and I suppose immodestly with
my size, strength, and quickness what could you honestly expect… I
was absolutely super proud of myself – it felt genuinely
great. It would have been unfair and a totally lopsided event.

Next, my pride and I confidently turned to return to my
seat. Me, ever so proud of my Mohamed Ali ‘float-like-a-butterfly,
sting-like-a-bee’ moment; my bar-fighter presence. However, as I spun
around I surprisingly stepped directly into Tracy ‘B’ Ware’s massive
chest – what the ?!?!

With Tracy still gazing clearly over both my friend and me,
he quietly said (never looking at me), “Pootz you okay?”

My alpha-male pride was crushed, humiliated, as I was
shocked to learn the hard truth.